


Without you, the world turns, but I die

by fineandwittie



Series: And I'll call you by mine [5]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Elio sleeps through most of this fic, M/M, Oliver hurts real pretty, Oliver is also sort of a horrible person, Oliver's POV, Post-Midnight scene, Prompt Fic, but hates it about himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: After Midnight, as the chips are falling.From Oliver's POV





	Without you, the world turns, but I die

**Author's Note:**

> Fic as requested by http://archiveofourown.org/users/luculina/pseuds/luculina 
> 
> Hope you like it. :)

I couldn’t bring myself to release him, even after I felt my cock slide from his body. He sprawled across my chest, dozing, and I wrapped my arms around him. 

The usual postcoital lassitude never materialized and in its place all I felt was dread. There was a queasy wash of fear in my limbs that I couldn’t talk myself out of. Tears, hot and sharp, pressed against the backs of my eyes. 

He’d never been fucked before, that much was very clear. And it made me afraid.

Afraid that he would wake up and hate me for what I’d done to him, that he’s be sick remembering it. Afraid that he’d accuse me of raping him, claim that I didn’t wait long enough for his _Stop. I want you to stop_ when I’d asked if he wanted me to continue. 

Worse yet, I was afraid that he would awaken and climb out of my arms, the bed. That he would turn and look at me dispassionately and shrug his shoulders and say, “Not bad. I’ve had better,” before disappearing into the bathroom to shower. Before disappearing from my bed and my life. 

Indifference was not something I could handle.

But worst of all? I was afraid that he would open his eyes and look at me with awe. That we would sleep together again and again until I had to leave. And that he would shatter into a hundred thousand pieces when I walked away from him and that there would be nothing I could do about it.

He stirred, some time later, and lifted his head to look at me. His eyes were empty. Not filled with hate or indifference or embarrassment or awe. Just…empty. Like I had reached inside him and hollowed everything out. 

My stomach roiled and threatened to revolt. This was worse than any of the outcomes I’d imagined. I don’t know why this surprised me. He consistently defied expectations and my assumptions about his actions usually paled in comparison to what he eventually ended up doing.

My heart felt wrapped in barbed wire, bleeding and wounded, deeper and deeper no matter where I turned.

“You’re not happy.” I offered him, trying to call up some kind of emotion into his face. 

He shrugged at me, but a flash of something crossed his face. Not emotion, but…

“You’re feeling sick about it, aren’t you?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking it. It was nausea that I’d seen. He felt sick. Maybe he would bolt to the toilet and vomit. I thought maybe I would as well. 

Oh God. What had I been thinking? How could I have talked myself into allowing this to happen? How could I have touched him like I did, taken him the way I did, when he clearly did not want it? What kind of man was I?

But I knew the answer to that. Knew it very well. I was sick, twisted and broken in some unreachable part of my soul. I had fallen in love with him and now could not repair the damage that I’d done. I would do it all over again, just for a single taste of him. If this was all that I would ever have of him, it would be enough. I could carry the memory with me for the rest of my days and it would have been worth it.

I hated myself for that.

I must have mumbled at least some part of this allowed because he was watching me. I shook my head, fighting the urge to drop it into my hands, to curl around myself to try and stave off the pain. “We should have talked…”

I had fully intended to talk to him about what was going on between us. Or maybe I only told myself that as an excuse to return that note. I don’t know anymore. I would believe myself capable of anything when it came to Elio. 

He shrugged again. “Maybe.” His voice was flat and as empty as his eyes still were.

Those two insignificant syllables scored themselves into my heart, my head, my bones and sinews. They imprinted themselves onto my soul. Maybe. Maybe we should have talked. Maybe we shouldn’t have slept together. Maybe Elio never cared about me at all, was only curious. Maybe he hated the act or me or both of us. Maybe he wished we could roll back the clock to Before Midnight and stop the whole night from happening.

I was going to cry. I needed him to go, up and away from here, from me, from the bed we’d shared. And still I offered to let him sleep here, by my side, where his very existence would wound me deepest. 

Something in his face softened at my offer. I didn’t understand him and I thought maybe I never would. That Elio would forever dance just out of my reach and I would spend my every moment chasing shadows of him across the landscape of my life.

He laid back down, on the mattress this time, and closed his eyes. I swallowed passed the bile that was still trying to crawl its way into my mouth. 

He must have drifted off to sleep for a little while because he didn’t stir. Didn’t seem to hear the muffled sound of the tears that I couldn’t stop for all the world.

I had destroyed something in him. What that something was, I didn’t know, could never be sure. I was a monster, ruled by only greed and lust, who had reached out and tarnished something beautiful. All of this I knew.

But the thing that made me sick with self-loathing, the root of all my hatred and despair, was not what I had done. It was not even what I had been prepared to do. It was what I knew I would still do to keep him in my arms, in my bed, in my life. 

_I know myself_ had been my excuse to Mafalda for not eating three eggs, to Pro about the gambling, to Elizabeth back home for any number of excesses she wanted to push on me. A throw away line, flippant and with no real conviction behind it. _I know myself._

That was no less true now, in this. I knew myself. And I wish I didn’t. I wish I could pretend that I would simply live with the regret of hurting him. I wish I could pretend that I would step back from him, create the distance between us that should always have been there. 

But… _I know myself_ And so, I knew that, if I felt Elio pulling away from me, that I would play on his desire, on what I knew of the things that caught his eye. 

I would entangle him with me until there was no difference between us.

 _Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine_ I’d whispered to him and watched his eyes roll back in his head. 

I knew exactly what I would do, what I never had the impulse control to stop myself from doing, and I detested myself for it.


End file.
